Rhythmic Contusions
by GattinoPiccolo
Summary: Harry is injured and Apparates to the one last person he feels safe with: Tony Stark
1. Chapter 1

**Harry kills Voldemort and, in his injured state, Apparates to Tony's house because he recognizes the older man as "Safe".**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the Avengers or any other form of its media**

 **Warning: Blood, bad writing, things you probably see in every other fanfic but it's okay, a bit of dissociation and a belated panic attack.**

Harry stared blankly at Tony, blood drumming heartily in his ears and mind unable to make sense of the words that the man's lips seemed to be forming. Cold beads of sweat slowly tracked its way down the side of his face, and he had the inexplicable urge to laugh at the absurdity of his situation. _Who knew that he would actually live long enough to see his brother? Certainly not him; Harry had resigned himself to the simple fact that he would die as he had lived: as nothing more than a figure pasted on the front of people's minds. A silhouette of a person for whom they would fill in the blanks. Someone worth mentioning, but never remembering as a human being._

He numbly took in the fact that his companion was becoming more and more manic in his gesturing, cheeks flushed and streaked with black motor oil.

 _What was it that saved him then? Why was he spared when good people- better people- were sacrificed for the sake of the "Greater Good"? Why did he have to come back, unwillingly, when so many others would have gladly returned if given the chance?_

 _Why couldn't he have stayed dead?_

Harry only realized that Tony had stopped talking when a calloused hand reached out to pull him into an embrace, flinching at the unexpected contact as an aborted whine escaped his lips. The strangled whimper made Tony hesitate for a moment, fingers retreating until there was only a whisper of a caress; glazed, blood-shot eyes drunkenly focused in on the other man when he realized that he had once again become lost in his own thoughts, struggling to understand the grimace that carved its way onto his brother's face.

 _What was it that he wanted?_ The last thing he remembered was stumbling into the kitchen of Tony's flat, having used the last of his magical resources to Apparate himself to America (a feat previously thought to have been impossible), and the engineer's mug shattering as it made contact with the floor, coffee splattering everywhere.

Through a haze of confusion, Harry managed to pick up on the heavy pounding of footsteps resonating through the floors, the impact so intense that he could almost see the walls vibrating. The wizard barely managed to process the concerned look on the engineer's face before a snarl passed his lips- feral, and altogether a more frightening visage than the older man had ever seen on his young face- and a blue dome-like shield was erected, his Magic responding to his whims with ease as he spun around to prepare for an attack.

 _Were there Death Eaters? Had they somehow managed to pick-up his signature when he came here? How stupid of him- Harry thought he had outgrown his immature recklessness, but apparently not since he obviously hadn't bothered to even think about the ramifications of his actions before following through with them. Most likely they had searched the building first, not wanting to splinch themselves by Apparating to an unknown destination; they would need to be in good health to take him down, and missing a leg would simply not do._

How surprised he was, then, when instead of Death Eaters, he was barraged with the sight of a tall, blond man in pajamas wielding a gaudy shield; another, shirtless brunet holding a quiver; and a red-headed woman effortlessly pointing a gun at him, regardless of the energy field surrounding the two (and also happened to be the only decently dressed individual). Eyes flitting from one form to the next, Harry blinked slowly, brows furrowed as he pivoted back to Tony with an unsteady sway.

Swallowing hard, the boy parted his lips and let out a dry wheeze before a shudder wracked his body and he fell to his knees.

Fingers clawed at the smooth tile uselessly with torn and broken nails, breath steadily increasing as it kept in pace with the swirling flashes of his agitated powers. He was still somewhat dissociated from his body, mind sauntering along as opposed to the frantic beating of his heart, merrily commenting on the fact that Tony was wearing the socks he gave him all those years ago- _those horrible, ugly socks colored pink and green and orange that he gave to the man as a joke but was accepted jovially, as if he had been granted the powers of Jesus, and worn the very next day._

That was his last conscious thought before he finally succumbed to asphyxiation and fainted.


	2. Chapter 2

When Harry awoke, there was only a strange ringing in his ears to accompany his sudden consciousness. The lights were off, and when he opened his eyes the room was cast in a faint gray with hints of blue dancing in his peripherals. A blanket was draped delicately over his chest, resting just below his chin, and there was a pillow propped beneath his head. It smelled vaguely of lavender and smoke.

"How're you feeling?"

Harry flinched, nearly toppling off the couch at the smooth tenor interrupting his self-survey. A bearded face loomed over him into his view, carefully styled facial hair meticulously done and a complete contrast to the absolute mess that was currently taking up space on top of the man's head. Sunglasses sat crookedly at the tip of his nose and there was a black streak smudged across his cheekbone.

Squinting, Harry cautiously answered the question. "I'm fine. Where am I?"

"Just in the living room- I have the others locked out just in case you freak out again, though."

Humming, Tony swept a hand over his face, spreading the oil down to his jaw. Giving him a side-glance, the older man circled the couch and plopped himself down next to the teen. Harry self-consciously twisted his fingers in his shirt hems, an uncomfortable itch accompanying the actions as the long digits sparked exhaustedly.

Eyebrows scrunched upwards, dark eyes watching in fascination as the blue currents danced over the scarred tissue of a boney fist.

"Care to tell me what that scene was about?"

"Not particularly," Harry mumbled, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. The skin was dry and cracked under the additional pressure, and he could taste the blood.

"Well, I'm gonna be honest with you: it's not really one of those questions where "No" is an option. "Yes", and maybe even "I'll try", are acceptable, but there are currently three assassins living in the tower and I would rather them not have a scheduled kill-list for you, kiddo.

"Now, let's try this again. You wanna talk about it?"

A pregnant pause settled over the two, before the boy opened his mouth and, with flashing eyes, said, "Death threats aren't really all that new, so maybe you should try again."

"That's really not how this works…"

"Well, that's how I'm making it work now. Besides, even if they do manage to kill me, it's not going to be too much of a hardship, you know? In fact, that would be bloody brilliant if they could off me, yeah?"

Tony scowled at the youth, arms crossed over his chest. Creases marred his forehead at the disappointed look he was directing at the young wizard. The engineer's jaw was clenched so tightly that the other could almost hear his teeth shattering.

"We talked about this Harry…"

Said boy groaned loudly and rolled his eyes upwards towards the ceiling, his own scowl making its way onto his face.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah; "You're going to make it to at least 70 years old or so help me I will make you immortal." I know, I know. One can hope though."

"No! One can _not_ hope, and I want you to remember that you are under oath to at least _try_ and stay alive!"

There was nothing to say to that, so Harry just sat back and pouted. Really, what _could_ one say to that? He was under oath, and technically speaking, he was magically bound to honor said oath to the best of his abilities.

Smirking, Tony stuck his tongue out as if he were a child and not, in fact, an almost-middle aged man. Rolling his eyes, the teenager retaliated by crossing his eyes and scrunching up his face.

"Fine. But only because I have to."

"Good boy."

Standing up from the couch, Tony stretched leisurely, spreading his arms wide, hands fisted and back arching as he let out a noise of satisfaction. In all honesty, for all that he wanted to have this conversation, he absolutely needs a pot of coffee _right this very minute_ or he'll do something horrible, like pass out on the kitchen table.

So, shuffling off, the engineer waved a hand over his shoulder in a 'follow me' gesture, and an accompanying, "Let's have some breakfast, kid," just for good measure. There was no way he was going to let this conversation fizzle out, because he knew- he _knew-_ that Harry would somehow manage to distract him enough that they never actually talked about whatever it was he meant to talk to him about, and so it was best to do it now.

No time like the present, as they always say.

 _Damn._


	3. Chapter 3

Outside the room, the Avengers were huddled together by the door trying to hear what was happening inside. Obviously the kid was a meta, and dangerous if given the fact that he was covered in blood and looked just about ready to eat them alive, but it really just begged the question of _How does Tony know him?_ Tony wouldn't have locked himself in with a hostile if he didn't know them, _especially_ if he didn't trust them, leading Steve to wonder about just how long the inventor had kept the boy hidden from them.

Clint, on the other hand, had been trying for the past two hours to climb through the air vents to get to Stark, but apparently the man had decided he was fed up with the archer popping out from the high heavens at ass o'clock and installed security measures. Kudos to Stark for finally realizing how vulnerable he's been leaving himself and everything, but now Clint was absolutely certain that something was _very_ wrong with the situation, or why else would he be locking even the vents?

Frustrated and just about ready to blow a hole through the wall for easy access, Clint turned around to rant to his partner when he realized that Natasha had disappeared. Normally it wouldn't bother him, but right now he needed a spy, not a soldier, and he was beyond stressed.

"Steve! Where's Nat?"

Steve shrugged. "I saw her duck out about 30 minutes ago. Said something about talking to Fury."

Clint groaned. Of _course_ Nat had gone off without telling him her plan. Despite them being effective field partners and having a decent outside relationship, the man still had trouble getting her to communicate with him whenever she found a lead. Unless it was absolutely necessary, Natasha kept her silence, and Clint didn't think that would ever change.

Steve watched bemusedly as the other man stalked off. "Where are you going?"

 _"To find answers!"_

"Good luck," he called back. Looked like Steve was going to be waiting alone. Again.

OoOoOoOoO

The two men next to each other at the bar, each nursing a drink as they thought about how to start. Or, at least, Harry was thinking about what to say; Tony was already opening his mouth to interrogate the teen.

"So tell me: why the _fuck_ haven't you written in over a year, hmm? Busy? Too busy for _a fucking phone call?_ Two minutes, maybe a, "Hey, won't be calling in for a while," or something to tell me _why YOU SHOW UP FUCKING HALF-DEAD?!"_

Tony had tried really hard to keep his cool, but honestly? He was anything _but_ cool. He was livid; furious; confused; scared; but cool? Tony hasn't been cool since the seventh grade, so it was expected that he started screaming at some point. Screaming was a good thing, right? Yes. Every medical journal ever published would back him up (probably). Screaming good, showing up half-dead-and-bloody bad.

Harry, meanwhile, was trying not to meet his eyes. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the marble countertop as he fiddled with his tea mug.

"I…I couldn't. I couldn't- _wouldn't_ \- call you; it was too dangerous."

He drummed his fingers on the table a couple times, glancing around the kitchen and doing his absolute best not to look at the older man.

Tony stared.

 _"What._ You- I can't _believe_ you right now! "Too dangerous"? If you haven't noticed by now, genius, I'm a fucking billionaire! I sold weapons! I was kidnapped by terrorists, and got myself out, and then became a damn _superhero! How much more dangerous could it be than_ that?"

Pacing the floor, Tony flung his hands around as he tried to reason with the kid, his mind racing. _Too dangerous? 'Couldn't call' my ass, and what's this about him not_ _calling even if he could have? Damn wording; damn teenagers!_

Coffee sloshing around dangerously close to the rim of his cup, the inventor paced the floor in frustration. _How was he supposed to help Harry if he didn't know what was happening? How was he supposed to keep the kid safe when he didn't even know what to protect him from; who_ _to protect him from?_ He slammed his half-empty mug on the counter next to Harry, barely even registering the flinch it elicited he was so angry. Never let it be said that Tony Stark was good at communication within personal relationships.

"Why?" Tony turned fully to Harry, voice crackling as he tried his hardest not start screaming again. "Why didn't you call me? What aren't you telling me? Please, Harry, I just want to know why..."

His voice trailed off, not even needing to finish the sentence; not _wanting_ to finish the sentence. _Why_ didn't Harry think he could trust him? _Why_ was Tony always five steps behind the play whenever it came to talking to him? _Why_ did Harry always insist on being alone?

The boy in question whined softly in the back of his throat, fingers flying anxiously over the countertop in some sort of unseen symphony that made sense to only him. Eyes fluttering about the space around Tony, Harry could only sob.

"You don't understand," he keened. "You don't understand...you don't understand...I have to go, this was a mistake, _I have to go..._ "

He started to shift in his seat, getting ready to Apparate again- damn his body's limits- and get as far away as possible from here. He shouldn't have come here in the first place; he was being stupid and childish and wanting to go somewhere _safehomesafe,_ and didn't even think about the consequences and _this was how people are killed Harry, this is why the war ended so late because you were being stupid and childish and-_

And he was tackled to the floor by a solid form smelling of motor-oil and expensive cologne.


End file.
